stay messy
I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I f*cking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I’d see her again
—  James Frey, My Friend Leonard
(via thelovejournals)
“I don’t think we were supposed to love each other,” she said.
      “Maybe not.”
      “But we did, didn’t we?”
      “Yeah,” he said. A draft rolled through the sky, and her scent flooded him. For a long while, as long as he possibly could, he held his breath, keeping her there within his veins. Flour and warm bread and honey. It was like flipping through an old photo book. Hearing a song your parents listened to before you knew how to walk away. Comfortable, familiar, and then all at once, frightening. Because it used to be yours. Because you’d give anything to have it back.
      “Always will, I think,” she said, pulling her sweater more tightly around her shoulders. The wind faded, and he let himself breath again. Air untouched by her skin. Pale, quiet air. “Stuff like that doesn’t just disappear, you know?”
      And he knew. Of course he knew.
—  excerpt from a book I’ll never write (via yourhandwrittenletter)
Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.
—  Caitlyn Siehl (via serious)